


a drop to drink

by theantepenultimateriddle



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F, FOUR AM SMUT WRITING WOOOOOO, Shower Sex, i am likely less clever than I think I am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 19:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11607528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theantepenultimateriddle/pseuds/theantepenultimateriddle
Summary: The only thing left to do when you can't go back is move forwards.





	a drop to drink

Her breath is hot on Lovelace’s neck, warmer than the steam and faster than the drumming of water on the tiles, and Lovelace kisses her slow and drawn-out. She breathes with her, syncs with her, lets her lips linger on Minkowski’s until it feels almost like they’re one person, one entity of pleasure and hurt and need wrapped up together. Her lips on Minkowski’s. Minkowski, her skin soft, her slender fingers tangled in Lovelace’s hair.

Minkowski pulls away first, panting but not from exertion. She looks at Lovelace, her dark eyes wide and warm and deep, and Lovelace feels like Minkowski has whirlpools in her gaze and she’s being sucked in. Even under the harsh glare of the bathroom lights, even drenched and soaking, she’s beautiful. “Lovelace,” Minkowski says, her voice dazed and quiet. She repeats it, as if to remind herself. “Lovelace.” Minkowski leans in again for another kiss, quick and soft and not nearly satisfying. “Lovelace,” she whispers. “Please. God, please.”

Something lights on fire in Lovelace when she hears that, when she hears the woman she cares about most in the world pleading for her. She runs her hands over Minkowski’s back, feeling the muscles under the water droplets, running her fingertips over the edge of her shoulder blades and feeling her gasp. Then she carefully moves them slowly across to her front.

Minkowski makes a quiet, choked noise under her breath, almost a whimper, as Lovelace strokes her thumbs over her nipples. She rubs them in gentle circles, a light touch, and marvels at the reaction she’s elicited. Minkowski’s wonderful like this, losing control and liking it, and she moves down to kiss her neck and feels her shudder and press closer, wanting more just like Lovelace does. For a moment, she wants to just do it, just shove Minkowski against a wall and make her scream and beg for more, make her desperate. But she sucks gently at her neck instead, feels her shudder and sigh, and she wants to draw this out as long as possible.

She’d forgotten what it was like, being wanted.

Lovelace slides her hands down further across Minkowski’s body, down her waist to her hips. The water droplets drip away from her fingers, and when Lovelace speaks it’s like the words are being ripped from her throat, burning her from the inside out. “You’re so fucking amazing,” she says, and moves down further to kiss Minkowski’s collarbone. Lovelace can feel her falling apart, shaking to pieces under her hands, and when Minkowski tightens her arms around her she feels like the scab has been ripped off her soul, like she’s young again and her mother’s hand is cool on her forehead against the fire of a fever. Maybe this is what healing is, her and Minkowski and her hands tangling in the coarse, curling hair of Minkowski’s crotch. Maybe healing smells like Minkowski’s lavender soap and sounds like a desperate groan, tastes like skin over muscle and sinew, feels slick and warm and wet.

Lovelace slides two of her fingers into Minkowski slowly, feeling her, the slippery ridges of her inner walls. She goes slow and gentle, up until Minkowski grinds down on her, shoving her hips down and pushing Lovelace’s fingers further. Then there’s no reason for the brakes to be on anymore.

Minkowski’s louder than Lovelace thought she would be, and her cries- wordless, high, groaning- echo in the confined space, given more dimension over the endless splash of water against skin and porcelain. It’s more of a turn-on than almost anything else, just the knowledge that she’s doing this to her, that Minkowski is surrendering. Lovelace moves her other hand, positions it so her thumb is against her clit, and presses down just barely.

Minkowski’s hands clamp down, her nails scratching furrows in Lovelace’s back, panting open-mouthed now. When Lovelace looks up, Minkowski’s eyes are vacant and staring off into space, her face slack and ecstatic. There are water droplets clinging to her eyelashes. Lovelace moves her fingers faster, dragging them in and out of her, and her hips follow the movement. Minkowksi arches her back against Lovelace and calls out her name. “Isabel, Isabel, oh my g-” She breaks off in a choking whine as Lovelace curls her fingers inside of her, digging them deep into her. She’s a sandcastle on the beach, and Lovelace is a child knocking down her walls, watching her defenses fall and crumble and disintegrate into nothing.

Minkowski presses down onto her, trying to get her to go further, and this might be the closest thing Lovelace will ever get to a religious experience.

She goes faster, harder, pressing harder on Minkowski’s clit, rubbing against her, and Minkowski shudders and closes her eyes, tilting her head back to the water. “I need you,” she says, and it’s almost drowned out, but Lovelace hears. “I want you. Captain,” Minkowski says, and then Lovelace hits a spot deep inside of her and Minkowski goes taunt as a bowstring, like she’s just been shocked with a live wire. Lovelace keeps her hand moving and Minkowski continues riding her, circling her hips slower and slower until finally she stops, totally relaxed, slumped against the shower wall with eyes only half-open. There’s a satisfied smile playing around her mouth.

Lovelace moves over and slowly turns the handle of the shower, shutting off the water once and for all. Then it’s just her and Minkowski in an empty bathroom, arms around each other, and when Lovelace looks at her she knows.

“I love you.”

There’s a pause just long enough for something to flutter and die in Lovelace’s chest, and then Minkowski speaks. Her voice is hoarse, but serious too, like she always is when there’s something important that needs to be said. “I love you, too.”

Lovelace stares at her, at the Commander who runs a tight ship, at her friend who helped her finally find a home, at her lover, and she thinks that she can see a future here.

 


End file.
